


Too Hot, Hot Damn

by GoodbyeBlues



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, Farmer's Market, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Kinda cheesy plot but whatevs, M/M, Sassy Bucky Barnes, t for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 20:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14065110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodbyeBlues/pseuds/GoodbyeBlues
Summary: Loosely based on the Tumblr prompt from Write Some Words: I'm selling hot sauce and you just came up and asked for an entire spoonful of our hottest Carolina Reaper and now you're sweating profusely and your eyes are watering, do I need to get the EMTs to help you?





	Too Hot, Hot Damn

**Author's Note:**

> I am alive!! I am desperately sorry for a horrendously long absence - in good news, I am no longer terribly sick from being pregnant, because I have a 6-week old daughter now (yay!), so am now just terribly tired, which is way better! I wrote this very quickly as a bit of a warm-up before easing back in to Taming of the Brew, so sorry if it sucks. It's been a while and it's 2a.m, so yah. Here we go!

 

“I'm gonna do it.”

 

“Man, no, why even? There's nothing to gain here.”

 

“But there's so much to lose Clint. My pride. My... “

 

“You've got nothing!”

 

“I've got something! He's... compromising the integrity of the market!”

 

“You're just jealous his muscles are bigger than yours.”

 

“Am not.”

 

He was though. Bucky Barnes was absolutely jealous.

 

* * *

 

The dude had just shown up out of the blue three weeks ago, slinging his hot sauce and good looks like he owned the goddamn place.

 

Bucky's family had operated their stall at the farmers market for four generations now, their bee farm and honey business having existed in the Barnes family ever since Bucky’s great great grandfather had established his first hive all those years ago. Sepia-toned photographs and bedtime stories passed down from relatives spoke of their dedication to the craft, the love of a business raised from the ground up to become something to be proud of, a family legacy. Bucky was the current owner of Barnes Family Bees, and no way was he gonna let his ancestors down.

 

So when this blonde, stacked, douche-wizzle of a man had shown up at the stall across the walkway, taking attention away from Bucky’s business with his good looks (people were so easily swayed by muscle and golden blonde hair, it was almost pathetic), and organic hot sauce (which probably wasn't even that hot, much like their creator), Bucky knew he had to act. It was all glitz and glamour, that Crest-white smile and fancy packaging, and it was ruining the integrity of the market. Bucky’s great great grandfather hadn't walked uphill both ways to his beehive every day for fifty years just to have it taken away by some beautiful hipster who thought he knew hot sauce. Nuh uh.

 

Bucky was going in.

 

* * *

 

The dark haired man working the honey stall across from Steve was absolutely smouldering, and Steve was definitely in love.

 

He’d been keeping one eye on the stall while attempting to serve his own customers, that dark head and intense gaze threatening to take his breath away with every glance.

 

Steve had never witnessed someone so serious and impassioned about honey, and it was pushing all sorts of buttons he didn’t even know he had. He’d almost had a heart attack when the man had gotten some of that liquid gold on his wrist earlier that afternoon, lapping it up from sun-kissed skin like a kitten. This farmer’s market was meant to be a family space, and Steve had been riddled with decidedly impure thoughts since that delectable display. It was putting Steve at risk of having a problem. A… pants problem. Thank god for high countertops and aprons.

 

Business was booming though, so Steve couldn’t linger on his fellow market-dweller for too long. Which is why it came as a surprise when the man who had been occupying his thoughts appeared in front of his booth suddenly, rage flashing in those pale grey eyes.

 

* * *

 

Bucky didn’t really have a plan per se, but he had dealt with muscleheads before at the gym, (and no, he did not need any unsolicited advice on his form while doing squats thank you, Bucky had perfect form and buns of steel to prove it), so he knew a thing or two about getting someone to back off. His preferred method: The Glare of Death. He had seen Clint’s frankly terrifying girlfriend, Natasha, employ this move more than once, and had adopted the tactic ever since, with her blessing. No man was immune to this intimidating maneuver. The key to success was simple: Show no fear.

 

He marched over to the blonde’s booth with murder in his eyes and cold-blooded determination in his heart, coming to a stop directly in front of his now sworn enemy. Mr. Hot Sauce himself was in the middle of filling small, recyclable (of course, ridiculous hipster) shot glasses with samples of sauce, and Bucky didn’t hesitate. He lifted the glass closest to him and chugged it before slamming it down and looking the booth owner in the eye with all the fury he could muster. That is, until his eyes started filling with tears.

 

* * *

 

“Oh shit.”

 

Steve’s dream husband had just consumed an entire shot of his Carolina Reaper sauce, and his face was turning red at an alarming rate.

 

“Oh my god, that was for dipping! Are you ok?” Steve had intended to set out a little bowl of tortilla chips with that one, along with a little hot pepper warning sign, seeing as it was by far his most intense sauce. Steve made it himself, his tastebuds used to years of spicy abuse while perfecting his recipes, and he could hardly handle more than a teaspoon at a time. This was very, very bad.

 

“Yes.” The reply was more of a gasp really, sweat visibly and rapidly breaking out on the brunette's forehead. “You think-” a strangled cough, and a wheeze, “you think you’re hot shit? That you can just- oh sweet Jesus- that you can just show up one day and take over the market?” The words were said with increasingly clenched teeth, and the man had taken to leaning both arms on the booth, as if the weight of his own body had suddenly become too much. “Who-” another cough, a whispered “motherfucking hell,” likely not intended for Steve’s ears, and those grey eyes were blinking rapidly now, tears streaming over deeply flushed cheekbones. “Who do you think you are?”

 

It took one stunned moment before Steve finally had the wherewithal to react.

 

“I’m Steve,” he answered finally. “Would you like me to take you to the medical tent?”

 

The dark-haired man nodded furiously. “Please.”

 

Steve grabbed a clammy hand, a jar of honey, and led the way.

 

* * *

 

“I didn’t know,” the man who had introduced himself as Bucky, stated, “that honey could help dilute spice.” He was laying on his back on a cot inside the medical tent, a cold compress pressed to his eyes, and Steve was certain he’d never seen anything cuter.

 

“Honey is a pretty impressive substance. I wouldn’t even know where to begin in making it though.”

 

“That’s because you don’t _make_ honey Steve,” Bucky replied, and Steve could practically hear the eye-roll taking place behind the ice pack. “The bees make the honey. The beekeeper just facilitates the process.”

 

“Well excuse me,” Steve fired back, amusement colouring his tone, “if some of us don’t have goddamn pollen or whatever in our blood.”

 

“You don’t need pollen in your blood Steve.” Bucky groused back, exasperated. “You just need a little know-how from someone with experience. A guide into the beekeeping world.”

 

“And where would I ever find one of those?” Bucky had lifted the ice from one eye and was squinting out from under it, watching Steve as he took an exaggerated look around the small tent.

 

“I’m right here, you moron.” Bucky was sitting up now, his face getting red for reasons other than hot peppers.

 

“You gonna teach me how to keep bees, Buck?” Steve couldn’t stop his smile now.

 

“You wish, you punk.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

* * *

 

The following year at the farmers market, the Howling Hot Sauce booth had merged with the Barnes Family Bees booth, and not long after, the apartment of Bucky Barnes merged with that of one Steve Rogers. When Steve described their relationship to Clint as being “hot but sweet,” he earned himself a swift punch in the arm from his beekeeping boyfriend, and a kiss from grumpily fond lips.

Steve was pretty sure things had never been more perfect.

Bucky was pretty sure Steve was a total pain in his perfect ass, but he still loved him anyway. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I also wanted to say quickly that I missed you all! I didn't reply to any comments while I was on my break, but I read them all and feel so loved, you guys are amazing, sorry I was such a garbage person for not replying!


End file.
